


Nothing Big

by toomuchplor



Series: Unkissed [12]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan) RPF, Inception (2010) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Facials, Hair-pulling, M/M, Painplay, Quickies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchplor/pseuds/toomuchplor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth is, it'd be worthwhile fighting the bridge traffic even if were only dinner with Joseph. Add in Joseph with his shirt off, on his knees in front of Tom — well. Tom would put up with a good deal worse for a lot less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Big

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, those tags make this fic look a little more hardcore than it seems, to me anyway. It's really just a little hair-pulling and mouth-fucking between long-term partners. 
> 
> However, the fic does **not** depict explicit consent/negotiation/safe word usage, etc. This definitely does take place in a universe where such things have been talked over off-screen and before this moment. Still, if you worry this may be triggering, please do avoid.
> 
> For ohfreckle, who asked for Tom/Joe quickie, and analia_the_1st, who asked for light bondage but got this instead. :|

“Are you growing this out, or is it just a case of being too busy to get a proper haircut?”

Tom is maybe a little ungentle as he clenches his fist in Joe’s soft longish hair, tugs his mouth free to facilitate an answer.

Though Joseph, honestly, doesn’t really look like he’s in any state to be answering questions — even questions so ordinary and simple as what on earth he’s doing going round with this floppy overgrown mop of hair. Joseph is rosy of cheek and red of mouth, all dark pupils, heaving narrow shoulders, faint perspiration glistening at his temples and the notch of his collarbone.

Joseph likes sucking Tom’s cock.

“Hmm?” Tom prompts him, uncurling his fist and making soft amends for his roughness, carding his fingers through Joe’s curling dark hair, scratching the tender scalp underneath. “Or is it for a role you haven’t told me about?”

Joseph comes to himself a little more, recovering from the surprise of being pulled back mid-fellatio, and by the hair at that. “Do you like it?” he asks, bursting forth into a grin, tilting his head into Tom’s stroking fingers. “Pull my hair again.”

Tom frowns as though hesitating, then closes his fist quick as lightning and tugs hard, bringing Joe forward again. Joseph opens his mouth gamely, sucks Tom down with a hungry happy noise that zings right to Tom’s balls. Tom’s barely recovered from it when Joseph’s patting blindly down his free arm, tugging at that hand, pulling it to rest on Joseph’s head too. In case that wasn’t enough non-verbal cueing, Joseph appends this with an impatient hum and lets his mouth go a little slack around Tom.

“Oh, really?” Tom asks, entertained, grabbing hold now with both fists. It makes perfect sense, really; Joseph has a thing for being held down, and another, separate thing for slaps, pinches, little flashes of pain. Tom feels a right idiot for not working this one out sooner, all the times and ways he’s fucked Joseph in the time they’ve been together, and now of course they’ve got all of — Tom checks the clock on the stove — all of fifteen minutes left to explore this heretofore unknown pleasure before Tom’s absolutely got to be gone, in the hired car, getting himself back to the shoot in Brooklyn. So Tom clenches his hands, testing, and Joe goes yet more boneless, like Tom’s holding him up by the hair, like Joseph’s the puppet he so often resembles with his rangy limbs and elastic movements. Dangling from Tom’s hands. Tom’s plaything, at Tom’s mercy.

Tom spares the briefest of moments to smooth one hand down the lean curve of Joseph’s handsome face, thumb against the stubble that’s thickest just on the soft underside of his jaw. Joseph’s eyes pop open, curious but not impatient anymore, trusting Tom. Tom gives Joseph a small, pleased, fierce smile, and then pushes the flat of his thumb into the tender hinge of jaw just in front of Joseph’s ear, forcing his mouth open further. Pushes his cock in, deep.

Joseph chokes, coughs, blinks against reflexive tears, but his always-dark gaze goes utterly molten, and he grinds the heel of his hand against the front of his open jeans. 

Right: full steam ahead, then.

Tom grips Joseph by the hair, clenches, and fucks his mouth steady and fast and merciless. Joseph looks up at him, rapt and hectic-flushed and drooling a little inelegantly because he’s got very little say in the matter. His hair is actually too short for this, almost, but Tom’s got strong stout fingers and he pinches, tugs, adjusts his grip as his hands get sweaty. He hardly knows if it’s his own perspiration or Joseph’s, not that it matters. Tom fucks Joseph’s face and thinks of all things he might do if they had the time — binding Joe’s hands behind his back maybe, or even hogtying him, ankles and wrists. God knows he’s flexible enough for it, and it might hurt, which would be — good, it would be lovely, oh—

Tied up, Joseph couldn’t get a hand to cock as he’s doing now. He’d get that cross look Joseph only gets when he’s being denied something he wants, _Mr. Gordon-Levitt, sir,_ who plays at being the ordinary bloke but actually gets in quite the strop when he encounters resistance — but Tom would be unmoved by it all. He’d like to see those dark gently eloquent eyes begging, first.

Though, Tom has to admit, he quite likes them as they are now, too: watering and half-lidded and fixed on Tom’s body above him. It’s inspiring, is what it is; Tom grips tighter, readjusts, and switches to shallow fast pumps of his hips, just the top part of his cock gliding back and forth along the clever-sucking-greedy U of Joseph’s slackened mouth. Tom has to get one hand free again, so close but needing the squeeze of his hand to work the rest of his cock. He’s still got enough hold of Joseph’s hair to yank him back again at the critical moment, much more roughly than he did the first time, down and back so that sharp line of Joseph’s jaw comes up, throat bared. Tom comes on Joe’s face, messy, hard, while Joseph catches his breath in sharp-sounding gasps.

“Sorry, luv,” says Tom, “alright, there?” and he smooths his palm flat down the back of Joseph’s head where the hair is shorter, soft and straight. Joseph utters a soft groan, pitches forward and leans his hot forehead low on Tom’s belly, working himself frantically now. Tom keeps stroking his hair as gently as he can even as Joseph literally abuses himself, stripping his cock and holding his breath and making hard desperate little noises as he strives to come. “You did beautifully, you’re filthy,” Tom tells him, moved by the press of Joseph’s face against him, Joseph hiding himself in this surprisingly sweet way. “You took it perfectly, you gorgeous slutty thing.”

Joseph’s hand stills and his breath explodes out against Tom’s skin as he comes. Tom can’t see his expression properly like this, but he knows all the sounds of Joseph’s many orgasms and this is a particularly good one; he’ll be grimacing against it, opening his mouth and wrinkling his nose and curling the back of his tongue up to kiss against molars. Agony, ecstatic.

So of course it’s only about three seconds later that Joseph rolls back onto his heels with characteristic grace and agility, and casts a huge loopy cheerful grin up at Tom. “Holy,” he says, raspy-voiced, low, delighted, “fucking fuck,” beaming now.

“Did I hurt you?” Tom asks, though it’s fairly obvious that: a) yes, and b) Joseph didn’t mind it a bit.

“Right,” says Joseph, eyes crinkling with amusement. “You’re super concerned.”

“I am,” Tom insists, dragging fingers over Joseph’s dear familiar face, its dimples and lines and angles, the hot-pink shells of his sticky-out ears. “I’m just beside myself with — fuck, is that the time?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joseph says, flopping down now into a puddle of limbs and come-streaked skin, spilled every which way over his kitchen floor. Tom’s dinner is half-eaten, yet; no doubt Joseph will finish it off once Tom’s out the door, pit of endless hunger that he is. “Go on, you Hollywood big shot, use me and leave me.”

Tom grabs his t-shirt, pulls it on. He’s probably got come and saliva everywhere but he’ll have to make do with a washbasin clean-up on set. “Cheers,” he says, finding the balled-up wodge of shed jackets near the doorway, his untied sneakers. He comes back over as he struggles into the layered jackets, not bothering to sort them out properly. “Though I could do with a little less driving to get my dinnertime quickie. I suppose I have to win an Oscar to score a piece of tail that braves the Brooklyn Bridge on my behalf?”

Joseph just giggles and kicks at Tom’s feet, too lazy and happy to protest.

“I’ll call when I’m done, yeah?” Tom says, kicking back, toeing into the ticklish spot behind Joe’s knees, stepping on his thighs a little in a friendly way, on his stomach to make him laugh and _oof_ and push at Tom’s legs.

* * *

_We’re going to a movie tomorrow,_ reads the text, later. _After drinks with Noomi._

Tom tucks his phone away, reaching already for the latte the PA is bringing him, desperate for anything to keep him alert and on-task a little longer. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he shouldn’t check it, he’s going to do another take in about half a minute, but —

_Had an appt at the barber but cancelled. :0)_


End file.
